Daily Life in the Hunter's Dream: She Was Made to Serve
by PathofOdinSonofThor
Summary: The Doll was alone in the Hunter's Dream, watching each new victim of Gehrman's schemes arrive to be equipped for the hunt and then disappear into the Nightmare. None of them ever had the insight to speak with her and with her creator a vegetable, she was lonely. Then one day a Hunter arrived who could see her but how would he view a being made only to serve? Fluffy one-shot.


**Daily Life in the Hunter's Dream: She Was Made to Serve**

Everything was a daze. Time was a nonexistent concept in the Hunter's Dream, and reality was altered to make existing in its space like wading through a bog. Due to the nature of the pocket dimension, the way the hunters would die and return to this realm with only its caretaker Gehrman holding it as a permanent residence, it was if one was perpetually teetering on the brink of falling asleep. One could say it was similar to the effects of overindulging in the blood, the very substance that Gehrman created the Dream to fight against.

However, it was flawed. The way the Old Hunter ministered his alternate use of the Blood, the way he created more and more of his kind to overthrow the Oedon Church, it made hunters rely more and more on the very substance they wanted to destroy. As the first hunter, Gehrman had an indirect immunity. After his initial mutation that turned him into a human version of the beasts he was made to hunt, hungry for death and turmoil, he was tasked with creating more and more of his kind, becoming their teacher, so he was never exposed to the copious amounts of mental anguish and blood drinking that made hunters go mad, and turn from killing beasts into becoming a true monster themselves that killed indiscriminately. This, naturally, tore away at his very soul, and after watching everyone of his friends and family, those he loved lose their humanity, he created the Hunter's Dream as the truly last safe haven for those of his kind, and as a home base in his efforts to overthrow the Chantry. The problem was this safe haven, while often being a pleasant respite between hunts, didn't alleviate the insanity. The Eldritch horrors of the night still created monsters of men, and thus, Gehrman created a tool the hunters could use in their fight as they unwittingly fulfilled his plans, an edge that would help them combat the Nightmare.

The Doll. He fashioned this abomination out of bits and pieces of the arcane energy that enveloped the world, using his own fears and hopes, and those of thousands of others to give her the power to aid the hunters in anyway she knew how. The last step was to give her life, and the only way he knew to do this was to love her. How exactly does a beast love, though? How can someone devoid of any sense of compassion or kindness find the light in their heart to love something they created to serve no other purpose than to be used? As Gehrman perused his shop, carving the doll's face into her mannequin, he unconsciously pondered over this. He wasn't even aware of it when he finished his masterpiece, but as he turned to clean up his merchandise, to straighten up his workspace, the doll thanked him for creating her. When he turned, he saw none other than his old flame, Maria. To give her life, he had filled her with the memory of the person he was closest to.

Now, the girl served to assist Gehrman in caring for the Dream. She took care of the day to day activities, the basic upkeep of the gardens and tombstones, even straightening up the cabin atop the hill, while her master maintained order. He kept the balance of the Dream itself, keeping its existence as stable as possible, while the Doll served the most basic job of a maid.

"Master," she said lightly, her wooden face twisting into a small with her hands folded loosely over her front and bowing her head to him, "I have washed out the insight fountain and fed the messengers. Is there anything else you need for me to do today?" The crippled old man just gazed off into space, his bandaged eyes unable to focus on anything, and the Doll nodded once more. "As you wish."

Ever since he had created her, the First Hunter only remained in his wheelchair in the same place in the Dream as always, resting by the fire in the cabin. He never move, spoke, or ate. He never even looked away from that one space in the air, nor did he acknowledge the presence of herself or that of any hunter that came across the dream. Granted, none of them returned more than once, so it made sense he never revealed himself to them. Why not to herself, though? The Doll would love him greatly if he ever gave her the chance, even if that is what he created her to do, but with none of the hunters ever returning, and none of them ever seeing her on their first trip to the Dream, she was lonely. As she straightened up workbenches where hunters could improve their weapons, she frowned. Something wasn't right. Turning her head to one side and examining the drapes on the windows, the Doll's expression dropped uncomfortably, and if she were alive, the color would have drained out of her face. Without hesitation, she picked up a stock blunderbuss and aimed.

"Die, spider!" she shouted and fired a series of quick silver bullets at the thing. This had to be some kind of mutated beast exposed to the blood, though, because it dodged every single one of her attempts to kill it, so she tried again and again, breaking almost everything that the cabin contained. She was screaming in a high pitched wail. She hated spiders! They reminded her of the pthumeru dungeons and all of the alien creatures they possessed, and that was something she just didn't want to deal with today, or ever. It wasn't long before she was running out of the cabin, the building engulfed in flames, wailing in fright as she pushed Gehrman to the copse outside. When she calmed down, she watched the building burn and sighed.

"This going to take forever to clean up…" she muttered, and stepped over to get to work, but then, the reality of the Dream began to distort. The air around her shimmered, distorting her sight, and knowing that this was the traditional manner in how a new hunter arrived in the Dream for the first time, the Doll put on her best smile, brushing the soot and ash off her dress. She was excited. Maybe, for once, she would get lucky and this hunter would be able to see her.

"Well… that's creepy," said the hunter adorned with blood over his casual business suit and hood, gazing where the Doll's body appeared to rest to those without the proper insight to see her. She sighed more heavily than before. No normal human would be able to see that that Doll, more or less a corpse, was actually moving around and capable of speech and intelligence, viewing it as nothing more than an inanimate object, and it looked as though this new hunter was just like all the rest. Alas, he was normal. Still, the Doll would follow him around and see if she could help him in some way as he explored the Dream. This new hunter was… surprisingly cute. The others would normally see the messengers, her little cuties, and either be disgusted by them or see them as nothing more than annoyances, but this one was clearly different than normal humans even without his lack of insight. Even given the circumstances of the nightmare, he was still happy and compassionate. He knelt down by the group of three at the base of the steps leading up to the cabin, which was most likely still in tact for him, and smiled warmly at each of them, chatting with them as he picked his weapons.

The threaded cane wouldn't have been the Doll's first choice, but it seemed to suit his devil-may-care persona. Placing the pistol at his hip, he examined the sharp edges and the way it shifted from one form to the other, taking a minute to slide his fingers along the teeth in its whip form, even laughing playfully. He made the Doll smile. He filled her with a warmth that was foreign to her, something she couldn't really describe. Then, his face dropped into a serious expression.

"Something… isn't right," he said mostly to himself, then looked around, "Where… where's the Doll? And why is the cabin on fire?!"

The Doll blinked. He… he could actually see things? He actually had insight?! How did this not process correctly when he first showed up, and why was it only processing now? Could he really see beyond the veil? The thought made the Doll panic, and even though it was her job to care for the hunters and "bring out the best in them," as her creator had put it, this was the first time anyone had been able to see that she wasn't truly a corpse, and for the first time, the Doll felt a mixture of pure relief and anxiety. What could she say? What if he didn't like her, or if he didn't care about her? What if he didn't want to be friends and just wanted to use her? She was a tool after all. It would make sense for him to use her in anyway he pleased since she didn't have any desires or aspirations than to care for others. She was absolutely terrified of speaking to someone for the first time. She couldn't move. Her knobby knees started to shake, and she cursed herself as the wooden joints clacked together in rapid succession, her hands balling at her sides.

"Um… hello there," the Hunter said nervously, smiling a bit awkwardly, "I wasn't expecting to see another friendly face after waking up from that medical treatment. Are… you OK, M-Miss?" The Hunter wasn't entirely sure what to call her. It was a Doll, quite clearly something that was supposed to not be able to able to move, let alone look as anxious as she was, like she was about to start crying if he said even the smallest thing wrong, but it didn't seem right to just call her one. If she could understand emotion like this, then she could understand the desire to be treated as the sentient creature she was.

"Um… He-hello, Good… Good Hunter," she stammered, unable to meet the Hunter's eyes and shaking even stronger, "Wel-welcome to the Hunter's Dream. I am… I am the Doll who takes care of the… of the messengers and the hunters that call this Dream their home. Should you require my… my services… I will do whatever I can to help you…"

The Hunter blinked. Services? What exactly did she mean by 'services?' Looking at Yharnam and how screwed up the city must have been back in its prime, back when hunters like himself were a common occurrence and the hunt to slay the beasts repeated every night, it wouldn't surprise him if she was talking about some… less than reputable ideas. The kinds of lascivious details that passed through the Hunter's mind, questioning the kind of things she might have put up with given the properties of this world made him sick to his stomach. He didn't seem like the kind of guy to do that, did he? Was he really that scary that she couldn't look him in the eye, or was it just the fact that he was covered in blood and holding a dangerous trick weapon that set her off? Or was she just so used to others like him coming and going after using her body like their own personal playthings? Regardless, he wasn't about to do that, and ran over to her. The Doll jump in shock, fully believing he was about to throw her down and have his way with her as was her purpose, or at least what her specific form was designed for, but when she opened her eyes, she became thoroughly confused. He wasn't hurting her. In fact, the way he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tightly to his chest was almost… pleasant.

"All I really ask from you, Miss Doll," he said warmly, resting his chin against her ivory hair, "Is your friendship. I don't want anything else from you."

The Doll couldn't believe it. When she was originally born and expressed her desire to serve to her creator, Gehrman had expressed to her how hunters required certain specific types of care that only she could provide. They had mental needs, yes, but also very physical ones. He told her how they were all bad people, that they were mutated and developed by the church as human weapons to fight nonhuman enemies, and to not expect anything similar to kindness from them. He told her that they would only perform the exact opposite to her. He said that they would take out all forms of frustration on her, using her to fulfill any kind of physical need they would have, and really, the Doll didn't care about that so much as long as she would be able to serve them. Service was all she desired. Perhaps that memory had taken over her mind, and she was too afraid to really speak to him as she expected him to cause her the greatest amounts of pain, and was surprised to receive the warmth only a friend would be able to give. He truly was kind, wasn't he? He was the complete opposite of what the Doll had been taught to expect. If anything, she didn't want him to leave, and could rest inside of his arms until the world returned to the dust it had come from, all from just one simple hug.

Yharnam was often synonymous with Nightmare, void of any happiness or light, the darkness surrounding the world in a cold embrace, but now? Now, the Dream seemed a whole lot brighter to her.


End file.
